


Wanheda

by PandoraAnne



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraAnne/pseuds/PandoraAnne
Summary: Picks up immediately after 2x01, aka practically a whole series redo.After learning of Clarke's new title of Wanheda, he decides that enough time has passed and that he has to bring her home. Of course this doesn't go according to plan.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Wanheda.

Of course it was her; he had known it all along. The moment the Grounder had first mentioned the name he had felt that telltale twist in his gut, the one that was specially branded to her, no matter what name she might be going by now.  
He had prayed that he was wrong, prayed that somehow she had gotten out; found herself a nice little spot of land to settle down on, safe and unharmed, until she decided that it was time to come back to them, that her missing them outweighed all the reasons for her leaving in the first place. But the universe wouldn’t be so kind, their destinies had been set in stone the moment they had set foot on Earth, maybe even the moment they had taken their first breaths aboard the Ark, they would never be able to stop fighting.

When Indra had spoken her name aloud, linked it to this one and confirmed his fears, he had felt that twisting once more and known what it meant. He was going to find her, no matter what, he had given her time to collect herself, to try and put herself together after the things they had done but that time was over now. Bellamy was going to bring Clarke home.

Bellamy tossed his pack onto his bed, already tearing through the neat piles of paperwork in his desk drawers before the door had even shut behind him.  
He scattered papers all over his normally spotless room as he searched, half-blind with frustration and a desperate, terrible hope. Clarke was alive, he had a reason to bring her home and he refused to let himself lose sight of that just because this ridiculous new title had put a price on her head. She was alive, he would find her and he would bring her home. That was all he let himself think about as he found page after page, what seemed like every piece of paper in Arkadia, except for the one he needed.

There was a knock at the door and without waiting for a response, Octavia burst in.  
He caught sight of her looking around the debris of his room; the judgment plain on her face but he ignored her.  
“I’m really glad you’re not taking this news about Clarke badly.” She said dryly, nudging a few scraps of paper with the toe of her boot, “You’re smart that way, never make any rash decisions, always plan everything out.”  
“Octavia, I don’t have time for this,” he told her shortly, acknowledging her presence for the first time as he turned his attention to the makeshift bookshelf above his bed. He knew he had seen that map somewhere, it couldn’t have just disappeared.  
“Bellamy, stop,” his sister grabbed his arm, halfway towards the shelf, “You have to stop, figure out what to do next.”  
He shook his arm free of her grasp and started pulling down books, shaking them out to uncover anything that might be hiding between the pages.  
“I know what I’m doing next, I’m going to find Clarke,” He tried to inject his voice with as much finality as he could, letting her know that this wasn’t up for discussion. His sister, of course, didn’t listen.  
“Okay, cool,” she said, sitting down on his cluttered bed amidst a rustling and crinkling of papers, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.  
“So where exactly are you going to go to find her?” She asked, unconcernedly ducking her head to avoid a book he had just thrown onto the bed, the perfect picture of calm and self-possession, an image that only made him angrier.

Bellamy paused, a muscle in his jaw working as he tried to swallow his anger, this wasn’t Octavia’s fault, none of this was her fault.  
“I don’t know,” he said finally, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. Sightlessly, he grabbed another book and threw it aside when it too, proved to be empty of the practically impossible to find map.  
“Right, well, that’s fine,” Octavia answered, shrugging her shoulders, “You can probably figure it out on the road. But what exactly are you going to do when you find her? Provided you don’t get lost or captured, that is. What are you going to do if she refuses to come with you?”  
“That’s not an option,” he forced out through gritted teeth. He couldn’t afford to think like that, couldn’t afford to let one grain of doubt enter his thoughts. A heady sense of purpose itched at his veins, a wave of energy surging within him. He needed to keep moving, needed to find that damn map, needed to find Clarke and bring her home, and he needed to do it now, there was no time to waste.  
“And then, of course,” Octavia continued, “There’s the fact that you’ll have a hell of a time getting Clarke back here, even if she does agree to go. I don’t know much about this whole Wanheda thing but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble from Grounders you may meet along the way, highly unlikely that they would get in the way of this rescue mission, they wouldn’t dare have their own plans to capture Clarke. But, I mean, what if they do? What’s your battle plan in case you run into a big group of homicidal Grounders?”

Something snapped in Bellamy, a combination of his frustration over not being able to find that damned scouting map, and his anger at his sister. She was just sitting there, one leg swinging back and forth over the side of his bed, casually striking at the heart of every one of his fears, reaching into the deepest, darkest places inside of him and bringing them out one by one, exposing them to the harsh and unyielding light of day.  
“Goddamn it Octavia, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know, I don’t know where she is; I don’t know how I’m going to find her, or any of that. All I know is that I’m going to bring her home, even if I have to tie her up and drag her all the way back here.”  
His words hung heavily in the silence, the force of them causing his breath to heave with deep jagged breaths. As Octavia watched him silently, his anger prickled at his blood, turning to adrenaline, making him long to move, to fight, to run, anything but stand here, while his sister sat there, so calm and quiet. He forced himself to stop though, forced himself not to be reckless for once in his life.

Octavia was examining him, in that irritating and almost frightening way she had, looking as if she wasn’t just seeing the anger in his face, the way his hands shook, but straight into his soul, into the places he hid from everyone, especially himself.  
He wanted her to stop, wanted to push her away and get back to his frantic search but he knew there was no hiding from his sister. She was his blood, and every inch as stubborn as he was.

Finally she spoke.  
“Okay,” she said simply and Bellamy, who had been preparing himself a speech, for a storm of reprimands and angry words felt momentarily unbalanced. He watched as Octavia relaxed, the tension in her posture only becoming noticeable by it’s sudden absence, he must have been half-crazed not to have seen it before, but then again, Clarke always had that effect on him.  
“Okay?” He echoed, not quite believing his ears, “That’s it? No ‘Bellamy, be rational’ or ‘Bellamy, you’re insane’, just ‘okay’?”  
“Yeah,” Octavia responded, getting to her feet wearily, as if she had suddenly aged fifty years in the past minute, and every second of those years were tugging at her bones. But when she stood in front of him, it was with a straight back and a steady gaze. “I don’t agree with your ‘running off like a crazy person’ tactic of saving Clarke, but I also know that you’re the only one that will be able to bring her back. We need Clarke here and you need to be the one that finds her.”

Bellamy stared at his sister, wondering if she was joking, or lying, why else would she be giving him carte blanche to go look for Clarke? But at the same time he knew that she was telling the truth. Spending her childhood locked up in their tiny quarters had deprived Octavia of so much of her life, so many qualities she could have learned if she had been allowed to step foot outside her prison, things she might’ve been taught if she had been granted the company of people other than her mother and brother. 

And while most of those lost opportunities tore at his heart, made that familiar, well-tended spark of hatred flare up in renewed anger at the people, the system that had forced her to live like a prisoner for no reason other than the circumstances of her birth. He was almost grateful for the fact that she had never seemed to find a use for lying, or comforting half-truths. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to lie, dishonesty had shadowed every second of their lives before she had been discovered, the lies flowing off their tongues as easily as if lying was their first language but that had been necessary, the only way they could even attempt to keep Octavia safe.  
But the idea of little white lies, the careful concealment of the truth that was second nature to most other people never even seemed to occur to Octavia. What was the point, she had asked more than once, in putting so much time and energy into creating illusions when the truth was waiting just around the corner, ready to expose everything without any notice?

So he knew that when Octavia spoke, she told him the truth, and while sometimes it might be harsh and unforgiving, he never wanted that to change. If she told him that she was onboard with his rescuing Clarke, then she was, no question about it.  
“The only thing I will say though, Bell,” she continued, and Bellamy fought the urge to roll his eyes, despite his relief, “I think you should do this the smart way, form a search party, scope the land, and only make a move once you have a plan, to get in and back out again.”  
“We don’t knowhow much time we have left to find Clarke before someone else gets their hands on her, if we wait we might lose her to some stinking Grounder who managed to get a head start on us.”  
“And if we don’t wait, you’ll run off and probably get yourself killed because you were too busy trying to save Clarke to watch out for your own back.” Octavia snapped back at him, “I want Clarke back too but I won’t lose you to get her, that’s not an option.”

He could hear the fear and worry that underlined her words and it pulled him out of the frantic headspace he had been in since Indra had explained to them exactly what all of this meant for Clarke. Only that unyielding, never ending love he had for his sister had the strength to pierce the curtain of panic, exposing a calmer, slower and more logical plan of action, one that he was more likely to survive, even if the patience it required was pulling at his skin.  
“Okay,” he said finally, defeated, “Okay, let’s go figure this out. We should get everyone together, Abby, Kane, Raven . . .”  
“They’re already getting together in the meeting room off the east wing, they sent me over here to get you.” Octavia informed him briskly, cutting him off.  
He shot her a look, half exasperated, half grudgingly impressed.  
“Alright, I just need to get the last survey map the scouts brought in,” He started rifling through his papers again, most of the crazed energy from the first search having evaporated as he spoke to Octavia, “I brought it up here the other night to get a better look at the Ice Nation’s movements but I don’t know . . .”  
“It’s in the meeting room,” His sister interrupted him again, “You took it down there this morning to show Kane something.”  
He raised an eyebrow at Octavia, who just shrugged, dismissing his brief descent into madness and forgetfulness in the way that only she could.  
“We better get downstairs; they’re probably waiting for us.” She commented and, taking one last sweeping look at the mess he had made, her face determinedly expressionless, and turned on her heel, trusting him to follow her. Bellamy took one last deep breath and went to join his sister.

Abby, Kane, Lincoln, Raven and Monty were all loosely gathered around the table in the meeting room when Bellamy entered on his sister’s heels. The air was thick with tension and Bellamy felt it tighten around him as he stepped through the doorway. Everyone seemed to be wearing some variation of the same expression, a mixture of fear, apprehension and a tiny, unstoppable burgeoning of hope. They all knew what they were facing, all knew the battle they had been thrust into once more, but none of that would matter if they could just bring Clarke home.

Kane looked up at Bellamy as the latter entered and something like relief washed over the older man’s features. The two men had grown closer in the past few months, something that Bellamy would’ve never expected before he had boarded the drop ship. Kane had grown into something of a reassuring presence in Bellamy’s life, helping to temper some of his sharper edges, helping him to become the man Arkadia needed him to be, and though he never would’ve admitted it to anyone, even Octavia, 

Bellamy had begun to think of the older man as an uncle, maybe even a father.  
“I’m glad you decided to join us, Bellamy,” Kane said, “I was afraid you’d go running off to rescue Clarke all by yourself.”  
“I haven’t ruled it out yet,” Bellamy answered, resting his fists on the table, his eyes already roaming over the maps and other assorted papers. He knew his tone was harsh, could feel the snap in his own voice but his impatience to get moving, to do something, hadn’t faded yet and he was reluctant to let go of it fully, trusting that impatience to get the group moving if all else failed.  
“Right, well, we all know why we’re here,” Abby spoke up, stepping forwards, “And I doubt anyone needs reminding of what we need to do, but I’ll say it anyway, just so there’s no room for discussion. The sole purpose of this group and any meetings we may have in the future is to find Clarke.” Her voice broke infinitesimally on her daughter’s name, the mask of Chancellor slipping momentarily to reveal the scared mother underneath, but it was back up in the next second and her voice was smooth again. “I know you all have important things to be doing, duties that can’t be overlooked and I’m not asking you to forget about them altogether, but while we’re here, in this room, Clarke will be our only priority.”  
“Exactly,” Kane added, at Abby’s side, “We don’t expect you to ignore all of your other responsibilities, in fact, I know that if you did, the whole camp would grind to a halt but we do expect you to make time to work on the search for Clarke, an hour, an afternoon, any time you can spare.”  
Bellamy knew that Kane was right, knew that they all had responsibilities, the whole of Arkadia was depending on them but considering that Clarke had had a hefty price set on her head, it was hard for him to consider things like watch schedules and guard training as anything other than a distraction from the main point: find Clarke, bring her home.  
“So how exactly are we going to do this?” He asked, feeling the jittering anxiety filling his veins, the need to accomplish something, “We’ll have to bump up the number of patrols to start with . . .”

And so it began, the search for Clarke. Well, the official, Chancellor-approved search for Clarke. Even though no one would admit it, they’d all been looking for Clarke since the moment she took her first steps away from them. It was in the way they always seemed to linger a little longer than they needed to on their ranging missions, the way they read and re-read the scouting reports, desperate to catch the slightest mention of their wayward leader.  
But now it was real, it was concrete and never ending. They started with upping the amount of patrols as Bellamy had suggested, all the guards and rangers were given Clarke’s description, instructed to keep her safe if they stumbled onto her, to keep her away from any hungry bounty hunters, to bring her home.  
Then reports started to filter in, gossip and rumors about a girl with red hair, a girl who lived like a ghost, flickering to life and then fading away and a whisper, the whisper, Wanheda, always a few steps behind her but getting closer every day.  
That was when they started to pack the Rover.  
Then, one day, a red faced scout came racing into their planning room, forcing words out between gasps for air.   
Kane held up a hand, wordlessly telling him to catch his breath before trying to speak, the silence growing tighter and tighter with every gulp of breath, a veritable trip wire they didn’t dare set off.  
Finally,  
“We found her, a spy in a Grounder camp recognized her. We found Clarke.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finds Clarke, but he should've known that bringing her home would come with its own fair share of problems.

Countless grey, unnumbered days passed before Clarke jerked from an uneasy slumber, certain that something had woken her up.   
But that was impossible, there was no one else, no sound other than her heartbeat, no sight other than the all-encompassing blackness that surrounded her. Somehow it came again, not so much a sound as a vibration, the stones trembling all around her and a thin trickle of dust fell from the ceiling onto her face.   
Her heart leapt into overdrive, there was someone out there, there was something beyond her coffin.   
Clarke pressed her ear against the top of her prison, willing herself to hear past the solid stone and it came, so faint she wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t imagining it. Shouts, pops that sounded like gunfire, a low rumbling growl that put her in mind of the dragons that had lived between the pages of her favorite books as a child, then another shout, louder than the others, closer maybe and the stone against her cheek started to move.

She jumped back, as far back as her prison would allow that was, someone was on the other side of that wall. Was this it finally? Her final fight come at last? Well it wouldn’t be much of a fight, Clarke could barely hold her own head up, let alone any sort of weapon but she would fight, would try to defend herself for whatever that was worth. Clarke wasn’t going to die without a fight, no matter how feeble that might be.  
The prison shook again and this time it was followed by a terrible, ear-splitting screech and Clarke burrowed deeper into herself to get away from it. But there was no mistaking it now, the stone was moving, exposing the world beyond inch by inch.  
The sunlight pierced her eyes like needles, setting off a series of explosions in her brain so that all she could see was a dark figure against the onslaught of light.  
“She’s here, I found her,” it called, twisting to shout at someone or something hidden in the light. There was something about that voice, something that sparked some distant flicker of recognition.  
Then the man dropped to his knees, his arms stretching over the opening he had made and in the shade this created she was finally able to see his face.  
“Alright, princess, vacation’s over, time to come home.” He said, a grin pulling at his lips.  
“Bellamy?”

Clarke couldn’t remember much of what happened after that, just bits and pieces that scorched themselves into her brain.   
Bellamy reaching down to pull her out of her prison, his arms strong and sure, the glint of his knife when he pulled it out to cut her bonds, the thunder that warned of a nearby firefight. 

Everything was hazy and out of focus, and the only thing she seemed to be able to concentrate on was Bellamy’s freckles, had they always been so dark? Had there always been that many of them?  
A sharp stinging blow brought her quickly to the present, Bellamy had slapped her. She raised her hand sluggishly to her cheek.  
“We need to get out of here, the rest of the team are holding them off for the moment but I don’t know how long that’ll last. Can you walk?”  
A half-crazed laugh bubbled to her lips, 

“I’m not even sure I have legs,” she said. Bellamy grunted in frustration and the sound was so familiar that it helped clear some of the fog in her brain.   
They were huddled next to a hole in the ground, a sparse Grounder village spread out around them, the air thick with bullets and arrows and yells of anger and pain.  
Then everything suddenly spun and she thought she was fainting but no, she wasn’t falling, she was rising. Bellamy had scooped her up into his arms and was getting gingerly to his feet.

“Hold on tight to me.” He ordered, half crouching, half running.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped back automatically, winding her arms around his neck.

Clarke felt his chuckle reverberate deep within his chest.

“That’s my princess.”

They ran through the village, or rather, Bellamy ran while Clarke used every ounce of her remaining strength just to hang onto him.

Bellamy had gotten strong, she thought disjointedly, the muscles of his chest, against which she was resting her head had become defined, toned. His arms, one under her knees, the other supporting her back were definitely larger than she remembered and they held her comfortably, no sign of shaking or strain.

She wanted to ask him about it, as if a conversation about his workout habits while fleeing the place she had been kept prisoner for god knows how long, was a perfectly normal thing to do. But she was more focused on keeping down the nonexistent contents of her stomach. This much running and jostling was too much for her recently confined body, even if Bellamy was doing most of the work.

Gradually, the tree cover became thicker and the sounds of the forest overpowered the sounds of the fight they had left behind and Bellamy began to slow. Clarke couldn’t seem to will her head to look up, couldn’t even open her eyes but she could feel Bellamy’s neck against her arms, moving slowly back and forth and she knew that he was looking for somewhere they could hide out, away from prying Grounder eyes.

He shifted her weight in his arms and changed direction abruptly and soon Clarke found herself in mid-darkness, the smell of the forest somehow stronger, earthier and the air around her became cooler.

They were in a cave, Bellamy released her, laying her down on the leaf strewn earth, and then moved away from her. The loss of his body pressed against hers, the warmth of his skin replaced by the cool forest air forced her eyes open. He had moved to the mouth of the cave, something rectangular in his hand, a gun slung over his shoulder.

“Monty, are you there?” A crackle of static answered him and Clarke realized, belatedly, that he was holding a walkie-talkie.

“Monty, this is Bellamy, I have Clarke and we’re safe for now. Where are you?”

Another crackle of static came from the walkie, but this time it was punctuated by random, broken words. “Bellamy . . . got out . . . Kane hurt . . . bringing him back . . . stay safe . . . hide . . . protect Clarke . . . find you.”

“Monty? Is Octavia safe? Were there any casualties?” This time though, there was no answer, the walkie letting out a few forlorn bursts before falling silent in Bellamy’s hand.

“Damnit,” Bellamy cursed, clipping the walkie to his belt. This simple thing managed to permeate the haze around Clarke. The Bellamy she had once known would’ve thrown the walkie down in anger, no doubt destroying it and any hope they might’ve had of contacting the others. He would’ve stormed from the cave, tearing off to find and, if necessary, save his sister. But this Bellamy just stared at the ground, a muscle working in his jaw, fighting his innate urges as a big brother before turning around and approaching Clarke again. His face swam in front of hers and once again she was struck by his freckles, he opened his mouth to say something but the grey fog that had been beckoning so invitingly had swallowed her whole and she was drifting away.

A wave of freezing cold crashed over her and she was awake in an instant.

“Bellamy, what the hell?” She yelled, spilling out a mouthful of water. Bellamy stood over her, a canteen in his hands and a wry smile on his lips.

“Rise and shine, princess,” he said by way of answering.

The water was already drying, Bellamy had lit a fire while she had been passed out and it had really been more of a splash than anything but Clarke held onto her anger, anger was safe.

She tried to ignore him as he settled onto his haunches next to her but he was offering the rest of the canteen to her and between the screaming in her head and the feeling of knives in her throat she didn’t have the strength to pass on the water he offered.

She snatched it from his hand, ignoring his chuckle and then the water was pouring down her throat and nothing had ever tasted as good as this. The cool water caressed all the parched parts of her and soothed the fire in her veins.

Much too soon Bellamy had grabbed the canteen away from her and she had to seriously fight the urge to growl at him.

“You can’t drink too much at once, it’ll make you sick. Have something to eat, then you can have more water.”

Clarke would’ve argued with him but now that her thirst had edged back into a dull roar she became aware of how hungry she was and she grabbed the thing in Bellamy’s hands before he had even finished unwrapping it.

If she had thought the water was good, it was nothing compared to this. It was some sort of bread, thick and rich, dotted through with nuts and berries. After months of only eating to survive, this seemed almost gluttonous, indulgence in the extreme.  
She could feel Bellamy watching her but she didn’t care and soon, much too soon, the food was gone. As the last few crumbs disappeared Bellamy handed the canteen back to her.

“I’m guessing they weren’t big on the whole hospitality thing,” he said and the kindness in his voice was almost too much to take. Clarke couldn’t handle it, she definitely didn’t deserve it so she ignored it.

“You know there are easier ways to wake someone up,” she said tersely, motioning to where she had been lying.

“That’s true,” Bellamy conceded, moving to sit next to her by the fire, warming his hands over the flames, “But none of them worked, you’ve been asleep for over a day.”

“A day?” Clarke gaped at him before jumping to her feet, “we have to get moving, if we stay here they’ll find us.”

“Relax Clarke,” he said soothingly, using her name for the first time since he had rescued her, “Not all of us have been lazy, I’ve scouted the area, set a few traps and added some extra camouflage, we’re safe.”

“We’re never safe,” she muttered, taking another sip of water. She could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her again, twin points of light burning into her back.

“Speaking of camouflage,” he continued smoothly, ignoring her last comment, “We’ve got to do something about that hair.”

“What about it?” She asked defensively, raising her hand to her head, feeling the knots and brambles that had settled there.

“It’s terrible, I mean, really, Clarke, red?”

“It was the easiest way to cover the blonde,” she countered, not liking the feeling of having to defend herself for the color of her hair of all things.   
She had known, almost from the moment she had left camp that her blonde hair was like a beacon, calling all manner of danger and unwanted attention onto her so she had done all she could to change it.   
First she had tried covering her head with mud but that had proven to be a terrible idea, itchy as hell and nearly impossible to keep out of her eyes when she was hunting so she had experimented with different types of berries and leaves, eventually finding the perfect recipe for a make-shift dye-job. And up to now, she had though that she had done a good job.

“It’s just not you,” Bellamy answered.

“That’s kind of the point,” Clarke snapped, dropping her hand.

“Well, anyway, we need to get rid of it, it’s almost as bad as the smell.”

Clarke dropped her head, burrowing her nose in her shoulder, ostensibly to figure out if she really smelled as bad as Bellamy said but more to hide the blush that had begun to creep across her cheeks. She had survived months without worrying about what people thought of her appearance but now Bellamy was here, judging her for her hair, the way she smelled and it made her want to punch him.

“Fine,” she retorted, not wanting to give in but wanting, more than anything for Bellamy to stop looking at her like that.

“Great,” He got to his feet, “There’s a stream not too far from here where you can wash up.” He held a hand out to help her up but she pushed it away, determined to get up by herself, no matter how much her head spun and pounded. She knew how to take care of herself and she wouldn’t let herself get soft just because Bellamy was here now.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I first wrote this story a few years ago, just to make me feel better about the lack of Bellarke scenes. Now that that number has officially dropped down to zero, I figured some of you might enjoy a happier time.


End file.
